The Little Wounded Bird

Hi. I'm Oliver. And today there was a little wounded birdie in my yard. It didn't look anything like that Muppet bird, but nothing good comes up when you do an image search for "wounded" or "little" bird. A lot of weird stuff comes up, in fact. Like weird bird drawings and book covers.

But I'm getting off track. Back to the bird.

My mom and I were getting ready to go for a run, and as soon as we stepped outside I saw a little blob of feathers hobbling around in the grass. Just like that, my go-see-what-that-is-and-maybe-eat-it instinct kicked in--as well as some serious-ass bird tweeting (real tweeting, that is, not that twitter crap). It was the mommy bird and daddy bird trying to yell at me to stop me from messing with their little bird baby.

Then my mom started hollering too. "Ollie! You put that down!"

But I still didn't listen. When my instincts kick in there's no stopping me. Except if you offer me a treat. But not just any treat. It has to be a good treat. Like a dried chicken strip treat. But no one offered me a treat so I kept going after that little wounded bird. I nudged it with my nose, I picked it up in my mouth and tossed it, I swatted it across the grass. I was so focused on that wounded little bird that I didn't even flinch at all the mayhem that was going on around me.

My mom even tried to use logic. "Put that down, Ollie. It's not a fair to pick on the weak." If I would've been in my right mind, I would've responded with, "Darwin, woman! Natural selection!" But it didn't even register at the time. All I heard was "Blah, blah, blah, Ollie, blah, blah, blah."

Finally, my mom got a hold of my collar and dragged me out of the back yard. Then she put my harness on, hooked up her iPod and we started our run. It was a good run. And it made me forget all about the little wounded bird until we got back in the yard. But by that time the little wounded bird was gone.

I wonder what happened to it. I wonder if the mommy bird and daddy bird got it back into the nest. I wonder if someday that whole little birdie family will laugh at the day's events. "Remember that time when that dog almost ate you, but you got away? That was funny."

I hope so. I didn't mean to torment that poor little wounded bird. I was just having fun. That little wounded bird looked just like one of my toys except I didn't have to do all the work of pushing it around. It moved all by itself and I can't not chase something that's little and fluffy and moving all around all by itself. Then again, if a giant, mean Sasquatch came into my yard and started tossing me around, I'd be pretty pissed too. I'd totally want my mom to beat his ass and make him go away.

Mom's are pretty good about stuff like that. They'll beat the crap out of anyone or anything that tries to mess with someone they care about. So I hope that the little wounded bird is feeling better. And sleeping soundly next to its mommy, like I will to sleep soundly next to mine.

The end.

Ollie